Little signs of hope

I should be editing my book, or cooking the dinner, but I’ve been looking at something for the past half-hour, and listening to something since yesterday evening, which deserve to be written about.  You possibly remember my blog last year about the tree that was cut down.  Well, shortly after that, my mum came round with a tiny Rowan sapling, and we planted it, in the front garden.  It’s looked like an unpromising stick all winter, as you would expect, and Ryan at one point thought he’d killed it.  But, lo and behold!  A couple of weeks ago we saw something different at the top of this ‘dead’ stick, and now, there are three, possibly four, little green branches sprouting from it.  The joy that brings to me is immense.

In January, a wise friend wrote to me about the bulbs in her garden – hidden and showing no promise.  She said that it was the time to wait, and sent a picture of what they would become.  I’m sure they are bursting into colour as I write this, rewarding her patience, and affirming her faith.

Last night when I went to bed early, the birds were still up, and I knew that when I woke this morning, they would be singing again.  Of course they were.  Another joyful gift.

I am not as grateful as I should be, or as observant of all the many messages God is giving me every day.  Messages about waiting and hoping, calls to watch for Him, and listen, reminders that He is still there, and still faithful.  So, just open your senses, and I know you’ll find Him.  Like the bulbs or the dead stick, it might be that He is waiting for you to turn your eyes to Him, and then, prepare to be amazed!

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